


Are You There, God? It's About Mickey Milkovich

by radstereo



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Terry Milkovich Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radstereo/pseuds/radstereo
Summary: Ian thought maybe her parents were mean. Maybe they hit her. Maybe they hit each other. And then Mickey Milkovich drove up in his ugly truck, and Ian thought maybe he was the bad guy in the story. But after tonight, after the way he had scrambled to make sure Mandy was okay from whatever their dad had done to her…Ian realized that Mickey and Mandy Milkovich were in a far worse situation than he had thought. They were just two terrified kids stuck in hell.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mandy Milkovich & Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 16
Kudos: 112





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> for tab, because without her being so excited to read this, i'm not sure i ever would've pushed myself to finish it <3

_ "The human race tends to remember the abuses to which it has been subjected rather than the endearments. What’s left of kisses? Wounds, however, leave scars.”  _

Bertolt Brecht,  _ Stories Written In Exile _

  
  
  
  
  


The first time Ian spoke to Mandy Milkovich, it was outside the doors of school after the final bell had rung one Friday afternoon. He was a sophomore. She was sitting on the steps with a cigarette snuggled between her pointer and middle finger, a pink streak in her hair and a booted foot tapping against the concrete. 

Ian was on his way down the steps when Mandy said, “Hey, Ian, right?”

He turned around to face her, smiling awkwardly and holding up a hand to wave. His hair was in his eyes, like always. “Yeah, I’m Ian.”

Mandy stood, flicking her cigarette butt off onto the grass, walking up to Ian. She was a little shorter than him, her eyes turned up the slightest bit to maintain the contact. “Your brother is the super smart one, right?”

Ian nodded. “Lip, yeah. He’s insanely smart.”

“Do you think you could get me in touch with him? Need a tutor,” she smiled, but Ian could see behind the smile and knew there was an ulterior motive there. 

“Don’t get any crazy thoughts,” Ian laughed. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

Mandy’s face noticeably fell a bit, but she played it off. “I’m not! I genuinely need a tutor.”

“For what class?” Ian asked as he started to walk down the stairs, hoping Mandy would take the hint and follow. 

She did. “Stupid English.”

Ian shrugged. “English is easy.  _ I  _ could tutor you in English.”

“Really?!” she grinned, hugging his arm. “You’re the best, Ian! We’ll talk more, ‘kay?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, sure. I didn’t get your name?”

“Mandy,” she smiled, saluting Ian as she walked backwards away from him. 

“Does Mandy have a last name?” Ian teased, turning to walk backwards, too. 

Mandy laughed. “Nope! I’m like Madonna!”

She turned back around after that, walking fast and turning the next corner. Ian watched her go.

  
  
  
  


And as it turns out, Ian Gallagher and Mandy Milkovich were built like best friends. 

It happened fast— their friendship. They met up in the library one day after school, and once they got their tutoring session over with, Ian offered for Mandy to just come hangout at his place. 

They ended up sitting on his bed for hours, talking about random shit. But one thing Ian noticed was the lack of information about Mandy’s home life. She never talked about it— actively  _ avoided  _ it, even. 

And Ian got it— not wanting to talk about family. His family was as fucked as they came. But as the weeks passed and two of them got closer, Ian found himself being the only one to talk about his siblings and parents at all. 

The only time Mandy had ever mentioned her house at all was when Ian suggested they crash at her place to avoid the noise at his. She had gone stiff immediately, her gaze locked on the ground.

“No,” she said simply. “We can’t go to my house.”

Ian cocked a brow. “Why? ‘Cause it’s a shithole? You’ve been to my house—”

“No,” Mandy said more sternly. “We can’t. My dad wouldn’t like that.”

That was all Ian ever heard about the Milkovich house. He didn’t press any more after that, because it didn't sound like something Mandy wanted to discuss.

At least, that was all he knew until that damn day in May. 

It was blistering hot outside, way too hot for a Chicago spring, so hot that Ian had sweat dripping down his back and staining the material of his pants. Mandy was dramatically fanning herself with a magazine. 

“Ian! We should go get ice cream, or something,” Mandy suggested, sitting up and wiping her forehead. 

Ian shrugged, grabbing a tank top off of his dresser. Anything to cool down, he supposed. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

The two of them walked downstairs and out of the Gallagher house, but as they descended down the porch staircase and towards the chain fence, Ian noticed a beat-up looking, blue pick-up truck parked right in front of the house. 

And inside was a boy, with jet black hair, a scowl, and a pair of knuckles that read,  _ FUCK U-UP. _

“Mandy!”

Mandy froze, her eyes trained forward on the truck. She looked paralyzed in her spot next to Ian. 

“Mandy, come on, ya need to go home,” the boy in the truck shouted again, and his voice sounded stern but Ian heard something underneath that force that could've been caution. 

Ian looked over at Mandy, who still hadn’t moved. “Mandy, hey…”

She seemed to break out of it, looking over at Ian and jumping out of his space like he’d burned her. “Um. Shit. Gotta go. Bye.”

Before Ian could ask what the hell was happening, Mandy was practically running through the fence gate and into the truck. Ian furrowed his brows, standing at the base of his porch stairs, watching her. 

“Hey, what’s your name?” the boy yelled at Ian, who felt  _ himself  _ stiffen up at the tone. Hell, maybe Mandy had a point. 

“Ian,” he said back, loud enough for the boy to hear. “Ian Gallagher.”

The boy tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “You fuckin’ my little sister?” 

And there it was. Another Mandy Milkovich secret uncovered. 

“No way.” Ian shook his head. “Mandy’s just a friend, swear it.”

Mandy’s brother narrowed his gaze a bit. “Keep it that way.”

Ian felt like he was being sized up. He knew he shouldn't stress that much— this is Mandy’s brother, for god’s sake. But the way in which Mandy refused to acknowledge this part of her life, the way he seemed frozen in time when he pulled up to the Gallagher house… it made Ian wonder a whole lot about what it all meant. Why they had such a rocky dynamic— or if Mandy was just protecting herself from getting hurt. 

“Bye, Ian Gallagher,” her brother shouted through the window of the truck as he drove off, leaving Ian confused and more curious than ever standing alone.

Ian watched the truck until it turned off of South Wallace. He looked down as he spun and walked back up the porch steps, heading back into the house. 

“Thought you and Mandy were going out?” Lip asked from the couch, where he was nursing a beer bottle in his hands. He looked over at Ian as he sat down on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table. 

“Her brother came and got her,” Ian shrugged. “I didn't even know she had a brother.”

Lip nodded, taking a swig of his drink. “Older then, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah.” Ian reached over and snatched the beer from Lip’s hands. “I’ve never seen him in my life, so I dunno if he’s in high school still, or…”

Lip glanced over at Ian, watching him take a drink. “You like Mandy?”

Ian almost choked on the beer, but played it off as a cough. “Uh, no. Nah. She’s not my type.”

“She’s hot,” Lip smiled. “I’d bang her.”

“Lip,” Ian scoffed. “Be nice. Also, aren’t you fuckin’ Karen?”

Lip took his drink back, taking a swig with a smirk. “Yeah, so? You can bang more than one girl at once, man.”

Ian looked down at his hands, examining his knuckles. He thought about Mandy’s brother’s knuckles.  _ FUCK U-UP. _

“You think getting knuckle tattoos would hurt?” Ian blurted to his brother, flexing his fingers a bit. 

Lip snorted, cocking a brow and glancing over at Ian. “You planning to get some tattoos?” 

“Nah, man, just wondering. Mandy’s brother had some,” Ian sighed, looking up at Lip. “Just curious.”

Ian went upstairs after him and Lip talked more about Mandy, which transitioned into talking about Karen, and when Lip started to ask Ian what girls around school he thought were hot, Ian made up a stupid homework excuse and escaped to his room. 

And that night, while Ian hid away in the running shower, washing his hair with the shitty shampoo they all shared, he thought about Mandy’s brother. He wasn't too sure why. He just couldn't stop thinking about him, his black hair, his scowl, and  _ FUCK U-UP. _

  
  
  
  


“So, can I ask about your brother or is that off-limits?” Ian tentatively questioned as he sat with Mandy during lunch. She was doing homework for her next period, while stealing sips from Ian’s water bottle. 

Mandy didn't look over at Ian when she spoke. “I guess you can, but there's nothing interesting there.”

“What’s his name?” Ian jumped to ask. It was all he’d been able to fucking think about for days— Mandy’s brother. He’d given the guy several different names in his own mind each time he thought about him. He wasn't too sure  _ why _ this guy interested him so much. Maybe it was the damn knuckles. 

“Mickey,” she said softly, like she’d never said it aloud before in her life. Her eyes were still trained on her homework, though she’d stopped doing it after Ian asked his first question.

_ Mickey. _

Ian wanted to say it out loud, to test the way it sounded in his own voice, but he knew it would weird Mandy out if he did it then and there. 

Ian couldn't think of anything else to ask, then. Of course, he had the questions floating around in his head, but they were questions he would never dare ask out loud. They were questions Mandy would knock his teeth out for asking.

When he went home that afternoon, he laid in his bed and stared at the ceiling. He was alone in his room, thank god. 

“Mickey,” he said quickly, trying out the name on his mouth. It didn't sound too bad. “Mickey.”

And he said over, and over, and over. He said Mickey’s name until he was sure the boy’s ears would be ringing with it, with the fact that someone a few blocks away was saying his name to himself like an idiot. 

He wanted to ask Lip and Fiona about it. If they knew a Mickey Milkovich. If they knew anything about the Milkoviches at all. But he couldn't help but feel as though that was betrayal— Mandy clearly wanted to keep her family life private, and Ian couldn't blame her. For him, Frank went off every day spewing new shit about the Gallagher’s family issues, so he never had any privacy with his family. But if Mandy wanted to hold onto that, keep her issues locked up, accessible to herself and the rest of the Milkoviches only, Ian wasn't gonna demonize her, or pressure her to tell. He would only support her if or when the time came for her to tell. 

That didn't stop Ian’s curiosity, though. He still thought about Mickey. He still wondered about him. 

“Mickey Milkovich,” Ian whispered one last time, biting the inside of his cheek after, like he had something to hide. 

The truth is, that he really did. 

  
  
  
  


Without any warning at all, Mandy was missing from school for a whole week.

Ian was worried sick. Mandy didn't have a phone. He didn't know where Mandy lived. He had no way of knowing if she was okay. Because he barely knew anything about that family, but he did know that Mandy wasn't a fan of her dad. And that had implications.

It was late, dark outside, and Ian was getting ready to close up the Kash n’ Grab for the night. He was straightening things up, humming softly to himself, worrying about Mandy and thinking about Mickey.

That was, until the bell by the door dinged, signaling someone had entered the store.

“Gallagher,” came the voice, and Ian knew it all too well, because he’d spent the last two weeks thinking about it and the guy attached to it. 

He turned around, facing Mickey Milkovich, who had blood on his face and swollen knuckles. 

“Whoa, what the hell—” Ian started to say, but Mickey shook his head before Ian could finish.

“Shut up, you got medical supplies here or somethin’?” Mickey asked, starting to scan the place with his eyes. 

Ian shook his head. “No, but I have some at home—”

“Great.” Mickey started backtracking towards the door. “C’mon, Mandy needs help.”

Ian didn't say anything else, making a beeline for the door. He rushed to Mickey’s truck parked shittily outside, climbing into the backseat where Mandy was curled up, her face buried in her hands. She was crying. There was blood all over the seat.

“Mandy?” Ian whispered, cradling her up into his arms. He didn't even care that blood was getting on his jeans. 

She looked up at him through her teary, wet lashes, droplets clinging to the tips. Her face was puffy and red from crying. Splotchy, too. Mandy looked up at Ian like he was her savior, a breath of relief leaving her lungs like it had been punched out of her. 

“Ian,” she breathed, pulling him down into a hug. Ian cradled her head, running his fingers gently through her hair. It was knotted up, like someone had been dragging her around by it. The thought made Ian sick to his stomach.

Mickey slammed the driver’s side door as he got into the car, squealing the tires as he sped off towards the Gallagher house. 

“What the hell happened?” Ian asked, speaking louder so Mickey he could hear him. 

Mandy started to cower again, burying her face in Ian’s chest, and that gave him enough of an answer about the state she was in. 

“Our fuckin’ dad,” Mickey blurted, and when Ian looked up at him, matching his gaze through the rearview mirror, he could tell Mickey hadn’t meant for that to come out. Another Milkovich secret uncovered, laid out naked for Ian to see. 

Ian didn't push any further, though. He held Mandy until they pulled up to the Gallagher house, and he carried her inside and into the kitchen, where he sat her carefully onto the counter. 

Mickey had already started raiding cabinets for supplies. “Where the hell you keep your shit, Gallagher?”

Ian spared another glance at Mandy. “Upstairs. I’ll go get it.”

He dashed upstairs and into the bathroom to get their first-aid stuff, and was back downstairs in less than 30 seconds. He handed it over to Mickey, who had lit a cigarette in the time Ian was gone. 

“Mandy, hey,” Mickey said to his sister, in a voice Ian had never expected to hear from the boy. It was gentle. It was caring, and protective. “I’m gonna get ya all cleaned up, ‘kay?”

Ian grabbed a clean washcloth from one of the kitchen drawers, wetting it at the sink and bringing it back to Mandy. He moved to wipe the blood off her face, but Mickey snatched the rag from his fingers before he had the chance to touch it to Mandy’s skin.

“I got it,” Mickey snapped, gently cleaning Mandy’s face. His other hand came up to hold Mandy’s head, steadying it. Ian’s eyes were drawn back to his damn knuckles once again. 

The kitchen was silent for a while, except for the soft sounds of the washcloth on Mandy’s face, neck, and arms. 

Ian looked down at one point, eyes widening in horror as Mandy shifted a bit, and in the spot where she’d sat before was a puddle of blood. 

His eyes flicked up to Mickey, watching to see if he’d notice, and sure enough, Mickey’s gaze fell down to the blood on the counter. He didn't seem to register it much, though, just glancing over at Ian. “Get a towel, would ya?”

As Ian walked away from the siblings to grab a towel like Mickey had asked, he could hear them start to have a rushed conversation. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, the reality of what was happening finally hitting him. How dangerous their dad was, and why Mandy never wanted Ian to know about any of this in the first place. 

He brought the towel back, and Mickey snatched it from his hands. He wiped up the blood from the counter, then folded it and sat it underneath Mandy. 

When she was all cleaned up, Mickey lifted her into his arms, and Ian couldn't help but smile softly as she wrapped her legs around Mickey’s torso, and her arms around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder like she was a child. Mickey just held her tight against him, one hand splayed out across her back and another supporting her thigh. 

He glanced up at Ian. “Thanks, Gallagher.”

“Where are you gonna go?” Ian asked, eyeing Mandy’s face on Mickey’s shoulder. Her eyes were closed. 

“We’ve got somewhere,” Mickey said, his voice stern and closed-off. A Milkovich secret that wasn't ready to be aired out yet, if any of them ever were at all.

Ian just nodded, and watched as Mickey slipped out the back door, his little sister in his arms. 

In that moment, he knew the Milkoviches were more than what he had imagined them to be. By the way Mandy refused to speak about her family, Ian had assumed they were all assholes. But even Ian, with his family of assholes, wasn't as opposed to discussing his life as Mandy was. So, Ian thought maybe her parents were mean. Maybe they hit her. Maybe they hit each other. And then Mickey Milkovich drove up in his ugly truck, and Ian thought maybe he was the bad guy in the story. But after tonight, after the way he had scrambled to make sure Mandy was okay from whatever their dad had done to her… 

Ian realized that Mickey and Mandy Milkovich were in a far worse situation than he had thought. They were just two terrified kids stuck in hell. 

  
  
  
  


It was a week later when Mandy turned up at Ian’s door, tears in her eyes and a shaky voice that asked, “Can you take me to Planned Parenthood?”

Ian’s first thought was to say, “Whose is it?” 

He didn't say that. He simply nodded, closing the door behind him as he walked out next to Mandy, reaching over to her and lacing his fingers with her’s. He knew she would appreciate the gesture.

They walked all the way to the Planned Parenthood office, and although Ian wanted to ask why Mickey couldn't take her, he knew he shouldn't.

The woman at the front desk took one look at Mandy and walked out from behind the desk, laying a gentle hand on Mandy’s shoulder. “What do you need help with today, sweetheart?”

Mandy sniffled, looking at the floor, speaking like she was ashamed. “I need to get an abortion.”

The woman nodded, wrapping an arm around Mandy’s shoulders. “Alright dear, come with me. Let’s fill out some paperwork. Is this the father?” 

Ian shook his head, speaking before Mandy had the chance to. “No, I’m not. I’m her best friend.”

Mandy looked back at Ian, and the woman sighed. “Alright, I’m gonna need you to wait out here then. There’s some seating over there.” She pointed to the waiting area, and Ian nodded. 

“No problem.”

As Mandy was led away, she turned back once again to look at Ian, their eyes meeting, as she mouthed,  _ Thank you. I love you. _

Ian sat in the waiting room for a long time. He wasn't too sure how long he sat there, his mind running wild. He didn't even know how this shit worked. His leg was bouncing when Mandy finally walked out, her arms curled around herself, her face red and splotchy. Ian shot up out of the chair, running over to her and taking her face in his hands. 

“Hey, Mandy,” he whispered, looking down at her. She didn't look at him. “How are you feeling? Everything go okay?”

She just nodded. “Yeah. Can we go now?”

“Yeah, of course.” Ian dropped his hands, wrapping an arm around Mandy’s shoulders and leading her out of the building and out into the world again. “We going back to my house?”

Mandy sniffled, keeping her head ducked as they walked. Her hair was covering her face. “Can we actually, um, go to my house…”

Ian was shocked. He didn't let Mandy see it, though. “Yeah, sure, just tell me where to go.”

The walk to the Milkovich house wasn't very far, about the same amount of time it’d take Ian to get home. The house itself was… busted as all hell. Dirty, shit piled up in the front lawn, the foundation itself cracked and falling apart. It was worse than the Gallagher house. Mickey’s truck was parked outside. 

Mandy led Ian into the house through the front door, closing and deadbolting it behind her. She grabbed Ian’s hand and pulled him hard into the hallway off the living room, and to a door with a duck-taped cardboard sign that read,  _ STAY THE FUCK OUT.  _

She slowly pushed it open, sticking her head into the room, softly saying, “Mickey?”

Ian couldn't see inside the room, so he just looked down at where Mandy’s hand was still laced with his own. Her black nail polish was chipped and the skin around her nails was bitten and raw. 

“What?” came Mickey’s reply, and then, “Have you been crying?”

Mandy didn't say anything, just letting her hand fall from Ian’s as she pushed her way further into Mickey’s room. 

As the door opened more, Ian could finally see inside. Mickey was standing in the center of the room, an expression of concern on his face as Mandy walked towards him, gently falling into him with her arms out for a hug. He hugged her back, his cheek pressed to her temple, and he looked to Ian with confusion as Mandy started to cry again. 

Ian and Mickey spent a long time looking at each other, then. And Ian noticed things about Mickey he hadn't noticed before, like the barely-there bruise on his cheek, or the way his eyes were so fucking blue that it made Ian’s head spin. He noticed the small scar on Mickey’s upper lip, and the way his brows were slightly turned up as he looked at Ian. 

Eventually, when Mandy wasn't pulling back, Mickey looked down at her and whispered, “Mandy, what’s goin’ on?”

Mandy had stopped crying by then. She sniffled a bit, not looking up at her brother. “Dad…”

Ian stiffened up, then. Because Mickey didn't know where they had just been, and what Mandy had just gone through. But Ian did. And Mandy breathing out that small little word filled Ian with a blind, red-hot rage he had never felt before. 

“Dad what, Mand?” Mickey’s voice was muffled in Ian’s ears now, as he slowly turned around. His eyes were wide and his hands were starting to shake with anger. 

Ian didn't hear what Mandy said to Mickey, but when Mickey shoved past him to grab his gun off of his dresser and cock it, Ian had a good idea of what Mandy had told him. She just stayed back in the center of the room, trembling, and Ian watched for a moment as Mickey busted through his bedroom door and out into the main area of the house. 

“Mickey, wait!” Ian yelled before he even realized his mouth was open, and it felt like his feet were dragging him along as he chased after Mickey out the front door. 

“Not now, Gallagher,” Mickey snapped, clutching the gun in his hand as he stormed off down the sidewalk. 

“No! I wanna help!” Ian exclaimed, causing Mickey to stop in his tracks, turning to face Ian. 

“ _ You _ wanna help me murder my dad?” Mickey asked incredulously, a smirk breaking out on his face. “You’re fucking funny.”

Ian just looked at him, letting his shoulders sag a bit. “I’m pissed too, y’know.”

Mickey let out an aborted laugh, just a little,  _ ha!  _ He looked at Ian, shaking his head like he just couldn't believe the words coming out of Ian’s mouth. “ _ You’re  _ pissed? This is  _ my  _ dad we’re talkin’ about! I have a lot more to be mad at than you, Gallagher. This ain’t none of your fucking business.” 

Mickey took off then, stomping down the pavement away from Ian. He watched him go, not saying a word, still shaking from the anger he was feeling deep in his bones. It was like an ache. 

Ian went back inside the Milkovich house to find Mandy curled up on Mickey’s bed, crying softly into the sheets, and it broke Ian’s heart.

Without a word, he walked to her, sitting next to her head and dropping a hand to rest on her cheek, just stroking it gently. 

Mandy said nothing. Ian said nothing. The two of them simply sat there, the gentle sounds of Mandy’s crying filling the room. 

He wondered if Mickey was really going to kill his dad. And then he realized how messed up it was that he was hoping the answer would be yes. 

Ian closed his eyes. And he prayed to whoever the fuck was out there that somebody would save the Milkovich babies. 

  
  
  
  


_ When Mandy Milkovich was eight years old, her favorite thing to do was color. Mickey would swipe her shitty coloring books from anywhere he could, along with packs of crayons when he could. Nobody suspected the ten-year-old kid was stealing.  _

_ She’d color all day long. She’d color ponies and fairies and princesses, or superheros, or animals. She’d color with anything Mickey could get her. And when she finished her coloring pages, she’d proudly march into Mickey’s bedroom and tack them up on his wall. He pretended not to love it, but Mandy knew he did. She saw it in the way his eyes lit up every time he watched her come into his room with a new coloring page done.  _

_ Mandy would bring her coloring books and crayons to school, and color during recess when all the other kids played with their friends. She didn't have any friends. She preferred to color by herself, anyway. _

_ Christmas of 2006, Mickey wrapped up a brand new coloring book— one with three hundred different pages— and put it under the shitty little tree they had in the living room. He wrote in big, Sharpie letters on the wrapping paper,  _ FOR MANDY.

_ That morning, the kids woke up bright and early to go to the living room, and even though there were only 5 gifts under the tree, one for each kid, they were more than excited to open them.  _

_ Mandy ran to hers first, squealing in excitement as she tore apart the wrapping paper to reveal the coloring book. “Oh my god! Mickey! You’re the best brother ever! _

_ She ran towards him, attacking him with a hug. He laughed and hugged back, feeling her squeeze him happily. _

_ Their dad didn't get them gifts— they got gifts for each other.  _

_ Mandy wasn't able to get Mickey a real gift. But under the tree sat an envelope, with  _ MICKEY _ written on it in crayon and sloppy cursive. As he opened the envelope, a folded piece of paper fell out. He opened it up, and on the inside was one of Mandy’s coloring pages. This page was of two cartoon dogs sitting next to each other, both looking happy, with the caption,  _ BEST FRIENDS FUR-EVER! _ at the bottom.  _

_ Mandy has crossed it out with black crayon and rewrote,  _ BEST SIBLINGS FUR-EVER! _ Underneath that, she wrote something else:  _ I LOVE YOU BIG BROTHER!!! MERRY CHRISTMAS MICKEY MOUSE

_ Mickey looked up at her, seeing her smiling face. She was watching him in anticipation, waiting to see his reaction.  _

_ “I love it,” Mickey smiled, ignoring the way his older brothers rolled their eyes at the obviously babyish gift. But Mickey wasn't lying. He would never lie to Mandy. “Thank you, Mand. C’mere.” _

_ He hugged her again, kissing her on the head, and swiftly went to his bedroom to tack up the picture himself. It was hung up right above Mickey’s bed, and he traced his middle finger over the letters on the picture before going back to the living room with his siblings.  _

_ “All done,” Mickey smiled, walking over to Mandy and pulling her into a gentle, playful headlock. “Got your gift hung up.” _

_ Mandy laughed and pushed him off, sitting on the couch. “Can we watch a Christmas movie?” _

_ Mickey heard Iggy, Colin, and Joey snicker, and turned to glare at them. He knew they thought Mandy was childish— what they seemed to forget is that eight-years-old is still a child, and children are supposed to be babyish. Children aren't supposed to grow up as fast as the four boys did.  _

_ “Yeah, sure,” Mickey said, grabbing the remote off of the coffee table and turning the TV on. “I think Sandy’s comin’ by later, too, so you’ll get to see her.” _

_ Mandy’s face broke out into a grin, and she happily took the remote from Mickey’s hands and started to surf the channels, looking for a good movie. She eventually settled on  _ Home Alone  _ and begged Mickey to make her breakfast.  _

_ A good four hours passed before there was a knock on the front door. Mandy raced to it, swinging it open and hugging Sandy as the two girls laughed in excitement. Sandy’s parents said they’d be back later to pick her up, and the two girls ran inside and to the living room couch. Mandy immediately started to show her cousin her new coloring book, and the two of them chose their first pages from it to color. _

_ Mickey went and sat back down on the couch, watching Mandy and Sandy fuck around with the coloring book, giggling with each other as they swapped pages every so often.  _

_ It was good. It was a good day.  _

_ Until Terry got home. _

_ He ended up barreling through the door at dinnertime, drunk and mean. He was itching for a fight, Mickey could tell. And his older brothers had fucked off a few hours ago, so Mickey was left to guard the fortress and keep the girls safe. Like he always was.  _

_ “Hey, Dad, you gotta just sit down,” Mickey sighed as Terry stumbled his way into the kitchen. _

_ Terry grunted, shaking his head, turning to face Mickey. Mickey, who was four-foot-three. Mickey, who had bruises on his face from a couple of fights ago. Mickey, who pretended to be strong and brave standing toe-to-toe with his dad. Mickey, who was really just terrified.  _

_ “You think y’can get ‘round tellin’ me what t’do?!” Terry slurred, his voice loud and his words jumbled together like he’d forgotten how to speak. “Fuckin’ funny.”  _

_ Mickey held his breath, watching as his dad stepped a bit closer, bending down to be Mickey’s height. “Get me a fuckin’ beer.” _

_ Mandy looked back at Mickey from the couch, that look in her eye that said, I love you, and I’m sorry.  _

_ He swerved around his dad, going to the fridge and grabbing him a beer. He was closing the door when he heard a sneer, and his dad’s voice say, “The fuck is this shit?”  _

_ Next was the sound of a paper being torn.  _

_ It was quiet for a moment. Mickey watched as Mandy’s ripped coloring page fell to the ground, drifting down slowly like a feather. And then Terry reached over to snatch the coloring book itself, walking to Mickey and taking the beer, popping the can open and slowly drenching the book in beer. “This is stupid fuckin’ shit. You don't need to be doin’ this childish shit.” _

_ Mandy began to cry.  _

_ That’s what set Mickey off, in the end. Mandy crying. Because he lunged at Terry without even thinking about it, and got him on the jaw. Terry stumbled back a bit, mostly in surprise, and the few seconds of calm before the storm made Mickey’s insides turn. He knew he’d fucked up, then. And when Terry came back swinging, Mickey tried to dodge it, but he wasn't quick enough. He was never quick enough.  _

_ Mickey took off to his bedroom once it was all said and done, and slammed the door behind him. He sat on his bed, jaw clenched and blood dripping into his mouth from the slit of his closed lips.  _

_ His bedroom door swung open again, and he prepared for more hits, but they never came. He watched in anger as Terry barreled into the room and ripped the coloring pages from Mickey’s wall, one by one. He crumpled them up into paper balls, and once he was finished destroying Mickey’s room, he went back out, slamming the front door behind him and setting fire to the dozens of papers he’d just ruined.  _

_ The Milkovich house was quiet for the rest of the day, minus the occasional noise from Terry and the TV. Sandy got picked up sooner than later, which Mickey was grateful for, because she didn't need to see this shit. Nobody did.  _

_ Mandy retreated to her bedroom earlier than usual. She curled up under the blankets and softly cried herself to sleep.  _

_ And when Mickey stayed up until the early hours of December 26th, he watched through his vent as the hall light flipped on, and listened as Mandy’s bedroom door creaked open, Terry’s heavy footsteps entering the room and kicking the door shut behind him. He knew his dad was going to beat her.  _

_ The walls were thin. Mickey could hear it all.  _


	2. II

_“You were merely wishing for the end of pain, the monster said. Your own pain. An end to how it isolated you. It is the most human wish of all.”_

Patrick Ness, _A Monster Calls_

  
  


A month passed between Mandy’s abortion and the next time Ian saw her. He tried his best to get in contact with her— but when he showed up to her house, people would always send him away. It was never Mickey, or Mandy, and it certainly couldn't have been their dad. Ian assumed there were simply more Milkovich kids then he thought, and Mandy was keeping Ian away through them. 

Mandy didn't get to celebrate Ian’s sixteenth with him. 

She didn't come to school, either. So Ian had to make up excuses for her in order to get the staff off of her back. He wasn't too sure they really cared, anyway. 

Once the school year ended in June, Ian started to plan out his summer— work at the Kash n’ Grab, fuck Kash a couple times a week, convince himself he wasn't thinking about Mickey during it. He didn't even have a reason to be thinking about Mickey— it’s not like he had a chance. 

“Ian? You listening?” Fiona snapped her fingers in front of Ian’s face, laughing when he came out of his trance. “You went off there for a second.”

Ian shook his head with a small smile. “Sorry, sorry. Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Like?” she asked, leaning her chin on her hand. 

“Just shit,” Ian shrugged, clearly throwing up his walls. Fiona was the last person he wanted to spew his shit out to. In fact, there wasn't a person on this planet he wanted to vent to right now. Nobody would understand.

Fiona knew to drop it. She always knew when to drop it. Ian loved her a lot for that, among everything else.

The two of them sat at the table for a while longer until Ian just decided to retreat to his bedroom. He laid on his bed, his eyes trained on the ceiling when he heard it: _Clink. Clink._ Someone was throwing pebbles at the window.

Ian sat up and looked out the window, his eyebrows furrowing together when he realized it was Mickey fucking Milkovich tossing rocks at his window, like a high school boy in a rom-com movie.

He pushed the window open, sticking his head out. “The fuck are you doing?”

Mickey dropped the handful of pebbles he was holding. “Fuckin’ finally. Get your ass down here.”

“You couldn't use the fuckin’ front door?” Ian called as he shut the window, pulling on his shoes and going downstairs. He went out the front door, walking to where Mickey was standing in his yard. 

“Need a favor from ya,” Mickey said. “Stay at the house tonight?”

Ian’s face wound up in confusion. “Stay at _your_ house?”

“Yeah,” Mickey nodded, walking out through the gate, turning back to face Ian. “For Mandy.

“Mandy’s okay?” Ian rushed to ask, walking closer to Mickey. “I’ve been worried sick—”

Mickey cut him off. “She’s fine. Get your shit and c’mon.”

Ian listened— he went back inside, gathered up a bag, and was back outside in less than two minutes. Mickey started walking before Ian could even get down the steps, and he realized then that he was gonna be in Mickey’s truck, _alone with him._

The inside of the truck was… cleaner than Ian had expected. There was a bit of trash thrown about, Mickey shoving it onto the floor as they got in, but besides that, it wasn't too awful. 

The awful part, however, was sitting this close to Mickey Milkovich, being able to feel his body heat and hear his breathing. 

Ian felt frozen in his seat, like if he moved he’d break the moment. What the moment was, he wasn't sure, but the air in the truck versus what it had felt like before was different. Thicker. Tenser. 

“Why’d Mandy ask for me?” Ian questioned, his voice quiet and strained because he felt like he was choking on air. Mickey looked over at him, giving him a strange look, before turning back to the road and starting to pull away from the Gallagher house.

“Fuck if I know,” he shrugged. “She just did. You’re her best friend.”

Ian felt himself relax a little at that. Knowing that Mickey saw Ian as Mandy’s best friend, rather than a burden on their lives, made him feel safe. 

The drive wasn't very long, but it was silent. Ian forgot that not everyone was as animated and lively as his family, that not everyone jumped at the chance to have a fun conversation. Mickey was reserved, and Ian found himself listing the pros and cons of it in his head. 

They pulled up to the Milkovich residence, and Mickey hopped out of the truck, gesturing for Ian to follow. Ian, with his backpack in hand, walked with Mickey to the front door of the house and followed him inside. 

Terry Milkovich was passed out on the couch, and Ian almost jumped at the sight of him. This man, this one man, caused all of this. All of the trauma, all of the pain that lingered in these walls… it was all him. 

“Mandy’s in her room,” Mickey mumbled, quickly retreating to his own bedroom. 

Ian sighed, heading to Mandy’s room, knocking softly. “Mandy? It’s Ian…”

The door swung open before Ian even had a chance to take a breath after speaking. Mandy pulled him into her room by his shirt, hugging him as hard as humanly possible for a girl her size. He immediately felt tears soak through the material of his shirt, and reached his hand up to cradle the back of Mandy’s head. 

“I love you so much, Ian,” she cried, clutching his shirt like she would die if she let go. 

He let her cry. Of course he let her cry. 

  
  
  


That night, while Mandy slept, Ian snuck out of the front door and sat on the steps, smoking a cigarette and looking up at the plain black sky, wishing the lights of the city didn't drain out all the stars.

The footsteps behind him didn't register until there was a body sitting next to his. Ian jumped a bit, but relaxed when he realized it was Mickey. 

“Hey,” Mickey mumbled, taking the cigarette from Ian’s fingers and taking a drag of it. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” Ian sighed, eyeing Mickey’s knuckles as he smoked. He kept his eyes from trailing up those fingers to his lips, though. “Just wanted some air.”

Mickey looked over at Ian, and Ian shifted a bit. Mickey’s gaze felt like sitting out in the sun for too long and coming inside with a sunburn. 

“What?” Ian eventually blurted, causing Mickey to look away, handing back over the cigarette.

“Nothin’,” he sighed. “You just interest me, is all.”

“ _I_ interest Mickey Milkovich?” Ian laughed, shaking his head. “Way to flatter a guy.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey snorted, nudging Ian with his elbow. It seemed so casual for a boy Ian knew held up such strong walls. “I mean, I just don't understand you. Why the hell you’d stick around through all of this shit.”

Ian looked over at Mickey, who kept his eyes away. He looked ashamed. Ian hated that. “Because Mandy is my best friend. And I care about her. I care about you, too.”

Mickey jerked, like those words had never been said to him before. He didn't look up at Ian. His eyes stayed trained on the ground, his shoe occasionally scraping against the concrete. Ian just watched— he always watched. That seemed to be his role nowadays… watching the Milkoviches like they would run if he didn't keep his eye on them. 

It was quiet for a while, then. Mickey didn't speak, so Ian didn't, either. Truth be told, Mickey scared him a bit, but not in the way that he was afraid to be around him, but in the way that Ian didn't want to let Mickey down. He was determined on being apart of Mandy’s life— and that, in turn, meant Mickey’s life, too.

“You like Mandy?” Mickey finally asked, breaking the silence. Ian looked back over at the boy next to him, tilting his head a bit and sighing. 

“No,” he said, and didn't think before he said, “I don’t like any girls.”

Mickey went stiff, and for a moment Ian panicked. He embraced himself for the hit he expected to get then, thinking _here we go, my first fag-bashing,_ when nothing came. 

When Ian opened his eyes and slowly looked over at Mickey, his face still scrunched up a bit like he was preparing for something, Mickey was already looking back at him.

“You’re gay?” Mickey asked, ever-so-quietly, like it was a sin to say. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. Because Ian nodded and before he could analyze whether the look on Mickey’s face was relief or disgust, there were a pair of lips on his own. 

Ian was frozen in place, then. With Mickey kissing him, the only parts of their bodies touching were their lips. Ian wanted to reach up and let his hand run into Mickey’s hand, or hold him by his jaw, but he couldn't force himself to move. Mickey was pulling back before Ian could even let himself really enjoy it.

It was blue on green when Mickey’s eyes locked with Ian’s. And time stood still, because Ian’s chest felt like it was going to explode. There were so many sounds around them— laughing in the distance, the constant, buzzing chatter of the city, the muffled dialogue from the television inside the Milkovich home— but all Ian could hear was static and Mickey’s soft, even breathing. 

Ian thought, _maybe this was rushed._ But in reality, there was nothing else more right than this. From the first day he met Mickey Milkovich, almost two months ago, that boy had burrowed a hole into Ian’s mind. He took up a space of it, and Ian couldn’t shake him. He thought about Mickey every day. He thought about Mickey in the ways he didn't think about Kash— in domestic, personal ways. He thought about sex, sure, but he thought about holding Mickey’s hand, too. And that’s what really scared him, if he was going to be honest about it.

“Fuck,” Mickey breathed out, shooting up from where he was sat and bumping his foot against the porch step in the process, taking off towards his truck and climbing in before Ian had the chance to say a word. 

Mickey sped off, and left Ian thinking. Thinking was a dangerous sport for Ian Gallagher. It always left him empty. 

  
  
  


Ian woke up the next morning with Mandy’s head on his chest. It felt nice to hold her, he thought. He cared for her in such a different way than he'd ever cared for another person before. With his siblings, he’d always just wanted them safe and happy. Safe, happy, and together— that was all Ian wanted. But with Mandy, he felt this raw, unhinged urge to protect her. He felt like he could fight God if it meant keeping her out of harm’s way.

He supposed he might’ve felt the same about Mickey, too, if the boy gave Ian a chance to see him deeper. 

God, the kiss. The kiss was all Ian could think about. He knew it wasn't something to tell Mandy. He knew it wasn't something Mickey was ready for anyone to know about, and Ian respected that. 

He heard some clanking in the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans slamming together, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He carefully slid out from under Mandy, resting her on the pillow he had been laying on. He got up and stretched out his arms, curling his toes against the carpet. 

The house fell silent again, and Ian stuck his head out of Mandy’s door to examine the area outside it. He slowly opened it all the way and slipped out, treading with gentle feet to the main room of the house. 

In the kitchen was Mickey, and Ian saw him first. He paused, watching the back muscles flex through the thin material of Mickey’s tank top, and felt himself start to get warm. He knew his face was going pink.

Mickey seemed to realize someone was watching him, because he whipped around to face Ian. 

“Hey,” Ian spoke first, even though it felt as though he was forcing his jaw open with pliers to get the words out. He was so afraid to say anything to Mickey. He didn't want things to go south.

Mickey just acknowledged him with a nod, immediately turning back to what he had been doing. Clearly he didn't want to talk to Ian. 

That was fine. It was. 

Ian didn't know what to do just standing out there, so he turned and walked back to Mandy’s bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He leaned up against it, closing his eyes, letting his head thump back against it. 

He wondered about Mickey much more than he should. He thought about what Mickey’s favorite color was, or what kind of music he liked, or if he was a Coke or Pepsi kind of guy. He wondered what brand of cigarettes Mickey liked best, or what booze he’d splurge on given the money and the chance. He thought that maybe, just maybe, Mickey Milkovich was a sweetheart under the walls of protection he’d built up around himself. Maybe he wanted to hold hands with someone one day, even if it’d kill him to admit it. Maybe he wanted to get married. Maybe he wanted to be in love like people who didn't grow up with abusive dads and homophobic neighborhoods did. 

Ian brought his hand up to rub at his face, his back still pressed to Mandy’s bedroom door. 

He didn't know Mickey’s back was pressed up against the other side. 

  
  
  


Summer in Chicago was too fucking hot. For a city that spent almost nine out of twelve months covered in a heavy layer of snow or a wet sheen of sleet, summer sure barrelled its way in with thick humidity and sweltering temperatures that made Ian sweat. 

Ian was working, stocking shelves like he always did, when the bell chimed and the door flung open. Kash was on register, and when Ian turned to see who’d entered, he was met with an eye-full of Mickey Milkovich, standing right in front of him. 

Ian’s brows shot up, and he looked at Mickey with a mix of expectation and surprise. “Oh, hey Mickey.”

Mickey didn't look too impressed with Ian’s words. He tilted his head back the smallest bit, and Ian realized he was starting to tower over Mickey. Ian was supposed to sprout to at least six feet if the doctor was accurate, and it seemed as though Mickey had been stuck in the mid-five-feet range since Ian met him. Ian had already grown four inches since he met Mandy on the steps at school. 

“Gallagher,” Mickey said quietly, like he only wanted Ian to hear it. He dropped his eyes to Ian’s shoes, then flicked them back up to Ian’s eyes. Ian’s first thought was, _did he just check me out?_ but he didn't have time to dwell on that thought before Mickey was spinning around to face Kash at the register. 

Mickey was fucking fearless, Ian thought. Because he stood his ground, keeping solid eye-contact with Kash, as he reached down and grabbed a candy bar from the counter’s shelf, ripping the package open with his teeth and taking a bite. There were no words exchanged, just the fire in Mickey’s eyes burning holes into Kash’s skin. 

He ate the whole candy bar right there. When he was finished, he balled up the wrapper and tossed it onto the counter, walked forward, and leaned in real close. Ian felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. 

“You think I don't know what you and Ian get up to in here?” Mickey whispered, his voice laced with what Ian could only describe as _venom._ He sounded jealous. He sounded furious. It made Ian’s skin break out in goosebumps. 

Kash froze up, obviously caught, and Mickey just laughed. 

Ian wondered for a moment how the fuck Mickey knew, but it hit him square in the face when he realized he’d talked to Mandy about it millions of times, sometimes within direct ear-shot of Mickey, and never thought twice. Up until the kiss the day before, Ian didn't think Mickey even gave enough of a shit to remember Ian’s name. 

“You also probably think that I’m all cool with the fact that you’re lettin’ a fifteen year old boy fuck you?” Mickey snapped, then shook his head. “Sorry, that makes it sound like you aren’t a _fucking_ pedophile _.”_

“Mickey—” Ian started, but Mickey just kept talking. He didn't give Ian’s words a chance to even exist. 

“Ian is fifteen fucking years old, and you’re pushing forty. He’s a child, man. You’re his fuckin’ boss. You’re a fuckin’ perv. And trust me, Ian isn't even into you that much. He tells my sister about it. Drags you through the mud.”

Ian felt his skin crawling. He’d never thought about it like that. Mandy didn't seem to have a problem with it, but maybe she was better at hiding things from Ian than he thought. But the truth of Mickey’s words was settling into his brain like a bird building its nest— Kash _was_ an adult. And Ian _was_ just a kid, whether he wanted to be or not.

And what Mickey said about dragging Kash through the mud… that wasn't exactly a lie, either. Ian had been talking shit. What Mickey _didn’t_ know was that Ian had been talking shit because, deep inside his mind, he was wishing Mickey could take Kash’s place. Ever since Ian had started thinking about Mickey like _that,_ as subconscious and repressed as those thoughts may be, they started to show in the way Ian felt about Kash. It was fading, quickly. And Ian was almost surprised Kash never noticed. 

The store was silent for a long time, until Mickey eventually turned back to Ian and said, “C’mon. I’m takin’ you home.”

“I still have a shift,” Ian said, but Mickey just grumbled, grabbing Ian’s wrist.

“Nah. You’re quitting.”

Ian didn't have a chance to say anything else before Mickey was pulling him out of the store and out onto the street. He looked back at the store, but Kash never came out. 

“Get in the car,” Mickey said, walking around the front of his truck and hopping into the driver’s seat. He unlocked the passenger side door, sitting there and waiting for Ian to get in.

He did. He climbed into the truck next to Mickey, looking at him as he put the shift into drive. 

“Why’d you do that?” Ian finally asked, the question weighing on his tongue. It felt like word vomit, how fast the words were coming out of his mouth. “Why’d you tell Kash all that shit?”

Mickey was quiet as ever, because of course he was. All Mickey knew how to do was be quiet around Ian, locking him out. Technically, Ian knew, he didn't have much obligation to know the thoughts inside Mickey’s head, but goddammit this boy had kissed him on his porch stairs late that night, and Ian just wanted to know why. 

“Answer me, fuck!” Ian yelled without even meaning to, and the second the curse left his lips, an even heavier silence fell between them, if that were even possible. 

“Because thinkin’ about his hands on you made my blood boil,” Mickey spit, like it pissed him off to admit. 

It was Ian’s turn to go quiet, then. 

“That’s the ugly truth, ain’t it?” Mickey laughed, rubbing his face. “That I’m a fuckin’ queer and you mean somethin’ to me? Is that what ya wanted to hear, Ian? Well, ya pulled it outta me.”

“Mickey—” Ian started, but just stopped, because he didn't know what to say. 

Mickey kept his eyes on the road, and they drove silently all the way to the Gallagher house. When Mickey pulled up to the curb, Ian didn't make a move to get out, not at first.

He turned to look at Mickey, who was already looking at him. Ian swore he could feel his heartbeat in his fucking toes. His whole body was throbbing.

Mickey moved first— or was it Ian? Neither of them knew or really cared, because they were kissing again and that was enough to bring them back to reality. Ian’s hands froze mid-air, and he wasn't sure whether to hold Mickey’s jaw or run his fingers through his hair. Mickey’s hand came up to hold Ian’s neck, his fingers playing with the hairs at his nape. It sent a shiver down Ian’s neck.

His hands dropped to Mickey’s waist, and slipped up under his shirt, skin on skin, even if it was just Ian’s hands. He felt electric. 

Ian let out a breath against Mickey’s lips as he pulled back for the smallest moment to take a breath, and Mickey smiled at that, his grip tightening on Ian’s neck. 

“Ian,” he breathed, like it was a sin to say so. “Fuck.”

“Mickey,” Ian whispered back, because what else was there to say?

  
  
  


Ian didn't tell Mandy about the second kiss. Or the fact that they slept together after. 

It’s not that he wanted to hide it from her. It was that he knew Mickey didn't want her knowing yet, or she would already know. It probably wasn't even about him and Ian, it was him being gay all together. It was something he trusted Ian with, and that felt _good._ It made him happy to know Mickey trusted him with that huge part of his identity that he so desperately wanted to hide. It was so deep and so, so personal. Mickey was letting Ian see him raw like nobody else in the world ever had before, and it possessed him with a feeling he’d never imagined he’d have. One of pride, and gratitude, and joy. 

And, as he and Mickey sat on Ian’s bed one afternoon, a week after they’d first been together, Mickey took a drag of his cigarette and said, “Don’t tell no one this, but y’were my first kiss.”

Ian’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. “ _What._ ”

Mickey laughed, like Ian had said something funny. He wasn't too sure what the joke was. 

“Yeah, man,” Mickey smiled, glancing over at Ian with a look in his eye. “Weird, huh?”

“Not weird,” Ian said, shaking his head. He moved to face Mickey. “It’s cute.”

“Do _not_ call me fuckin’ cute,” Mickey scoffed, but Ian could read him like a book at this point. He knew Mickey wanted to smile, but wouldn't let himself. It was cute. Of course it was cute. 

“You’re stupid,” Ian said instead of letting himself spew out all his gushy thoughts. Mickey just rolled his eyes, and took another drag of his cigarette.

“You wanna fuck again?” he asked shortly after, like it was an afterthought that came forward in his brain like a pot being moved from the back burner to the front. 

Ian shrugged, his hand falling onto Mickey’s thigh.

Apparently that was all the answer Mickey needed.

  
  
  


Ian and Mandy were holding hands, because it was something they always did. Sitting on the couch, working on homework, with their hands linked between them. Mickey was playing some kind of video game on the TV, sat next to Ian, their thighs touching and driving Ian slightly insane. 

There was a firm knock at the door, then. Mickey practically jumped out of his skin, eyes flying to the door. 

“I’ve got it, Mick, calm down,” Mandy teased, getting up off the couch. Ian’s hand fell from hers slowly, because she didn't want to let go. 

She opened the door and was met with two police officers. They looked friendly enough, but Mickey was wound so tight Ian thought he would explode if he was so much as brushed up against. 

“Hi, Officers…?” Mandy trailed off, a confused smile on her face. One of the officers shifted uncomfortably on his feet. 

“Are you Amanda Milkovich?” he asked, and Mandy nodded softly.

“Yes…?”

The other officer sighed. “Look, Miss Milkovich, we’ll make this quick, since all of us down at the station know how he was… your father, Terry; his body was found this afternoon.”

Mandy froze. “His… his _body_?”

“Yes,” the officer said. “He was shot in the head.”

“Oh,” she breathed out. “Um. Thank you for stopping by.”

“You’re going to need to stop by the station and deal with some legal stuff, but no rush…” the officer trailed off, the discomfort in Mandy’s voice and physical stance painfully obvious. “Have a good day, Miss Milkovich.”

When Mandy shut the door, she moved to the window, watching through the blinds and waiting until the officers drove off, before turning and facing Ian and Mickey again. 

She looked right at Mickey. There was no anger, or hurt, or even sadness. There was only… understanding. And this knowing look in her eye. “Was it you?”

Mickey didn't say anything. He just stood up, tossing the controller onto the couch and walking off to his bedroom. 

That was all Mandy needed to know, apparently, because she sat down after that, looking over at Ian. She let out a shaky breath. 

“Are you okay?” Ian asked, his voice gentle. 

“Yeah,” Mandy sighed, looking back at the floor. A strand of hair fell over her face. “Feels like…”

She paused. 

“...relief.”

  
  


_“I’m fifteen, I’m not a fuckin’ kid,” Mickey scoffed, rolling his eyes in anger as he avoided her eyes. Her eyes, which were caked in dark makeup that highlighted the green in her irises. Mickey thought the makeup was no good— it was sloppily applied and easily smudgeable. He thought it looked bad on her._

_“Never said you were, sweetheart,” she smiled, reaching out and poking Mickey’s cheek with a polished finger. “Your dad said you need some help.”_

_Ah, right. His dad, the man in the next room over, who’s been switching between about three prostitutes for the last hour. But this one, this woman, she had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and was in the living room with Mickey now._

_“Dad sent you in here?” Mickey asked, furrowing his brows. “Dunno why he did that.”_

_“I do,” she said, but she sounded sad. “He wants you to get laid, most likely.”_

_“You’re like, thirty,” Mickey grimaced, and the unspoken end of the sentence echoed in his head: And a woman._

_The woman sighed, leaning back on the couch. She studied Mickey for a moment. Not in a predatory way, but in a way Mickey hadn't seen since… since his mom, actually._

_“Fifteen, huh?” she wondered aloud. “And your father wants me to come in here and have sex with you.”_

_Mickey just shrugged, and his heart was in his throat._

_“I don’t wanna,” he said softly, and almost jumped out of his skin when Terry’s bedroom door flung open, hitting the wall and definitely leaving a mark. He stumbled out into the living room, glaring down at Mickey from where he stood._

_The woman seemed to get the hint. She excused herself out of the house._

_“The fuck was that?” Terry huffed, shoving Mickey’s shoulder. “Paid for that girl for ya.”_

_Mickey felt fucking sick. “Sorry. Didn't feel like it.”_

_“Didn't…” Terry trailed off, laughing like Mickey had made a joke. “You mean to tell me I wasted my goddamn money on your ungrateful ass?!”_

_Mickey didn't know what to say, so he fell silent, and that was always the trigger with his father. Terry started to turn red with fury, so Mickey quickly blurted the first thought on his mind: “Sorry I’m not the type of guy who hires hookers for his kid.”_

_It went so quiet, then. But Terry started shouting and never stopped._

_Within ten seconds of it, Mickey was flying off of the couch and there was a human-shaped hole in the drywall next to the couch._

_Mickey was crumpled up on the floor like a broken toy and there were pieces of drywall in his hair. Terry lifted him back up and slammed him back into the wall, causing another slightly smaller hole to form. He held Mickey up by his shirt collar._

_When Mickey’s shirt started to rip from his thrashing, Terry opted to just latch onto Mickey’s throat, holding him against the wall that way. His head had started to bleed, and a thick line of blood was trickling down his face and into his open mouth as he struggled to breathe around the crushing hand on his neck. He started to let out these guttural, gurgling sounds, sounding like a man with his throat slit._

_“You think you have any right to tell me what the fuck to do with the whores I hired?” Terry spit, the fluids flying into Mickey’s face._

_“No,” Mickey whimpered, closing his eyes. “I jus’ don’t wanna fuck her, Dad, don’t wanna—”_

_Terry laughed, shaking his head. “I don't give a fuck ‘bout that. What I give a fuck about, is you thinkin’ you’re the man of the fuckin’ house!”_

_Mickey knew his dad might kill him, then._

_“Dad,” he croaked, his voice broken into pieces and shredded. “Please.”_

_“Not even gonna deny it, huh?” Terry laughed, throwing Mickey back down onto the ground. “You think you’re better than me? More of a man than me?”_

_Mickey sucked in air like he’d been dying, clutching his throat and closing his eyes as he struggled to get his breath back._

_“I don’t,” he gasped out. “I don’t—”_

_Of course, because that was the way the world worked, Mandy walked into the Milkovich house, then._

_“What—?” she tried, but Terry was grabbing her and tossing her down next to Mickey before she could finish her sentence._

_“Don’t even get me started on you, whore!” he screamed, pointing his fat finger at Mandy. “Heard you’ve been sleepin’ around with any guy that’ll take ya, huh?!”_

_Mandy opened her mouth, but looked over at Mickey first, and he saw the tears welling in her big, blue eyes, so scared. She had always been so fucking afraid of life, and all Mickey wanted to do was pick her up in his arms and tell her she was gonna be okay, life wasn't against her, even if it was against him._

_“Don’t look at him, look at me!” Terry shouted, and then suddenly, his gun was out and pointed right at Mickey’s face. “You want me to shoot him dead, bitch?!”_

_Mickey’s breaths fell short and there he was, covered in his own blood, snot, spit, and tears, with his dad above him, snarling like a dog. Mickey was a trigger-pull away from being brains splattered on a wall._

_It was the most terrifying few moments of Mickey’s life._

_“Don’t ever disrespect me again. Both of ya,” Terry grumbled, shoving his gun back into his pants. He stalked off to his bedroom, slamming the door loud enough to shake the house._

_Mandy was trembling._

_“I’m gonna kill him one day,” Mickey blurted, curling in on himself. And he was still just a little boy, deep down inside._

_He repeated his words again. And again. And again, until Mandy believed him._


	3. III

_“Yes yes yes I do like you. I am afraid to write the stronger word.”_

Virginia Woolf, _The Letters of Virginia Woolf_  
  
  


Summer was winding down, and of course the autumn air was starting to find its way to the South Side. Ian thought it was a relief. The heat had been exhausting. The months of summer, the months in which he met the Milkoviches, and entered their home, seeing it for what it really was… it had been exhausting. 

Starting 11th grade was easy for Ian, and he was barely even thinking about it on the first day. He had Mandy by his side, and that was what mattered the most to him. Mickey was all weird talking about school and, turns out from having a few conversations with Lip, Mickey had quit showing up to school regularly around his freshman year. When he asked Mandy about it, she’d just snorted and told Ian that she’d sooner have a fucking pony than see Mickey graduate high school.

After the cops found Terry’s body, Mandy and Mickey had dealt with all the legal fees, and got him buried fast and cheap. The cops didn't suspect a thing. Everyone in this town knew how much Terry hated his kids and how much they hated him back, so for Mandy and Mickey to feel no sadness, only relief… it wasn't surprising. 

Only, Ian knew the truth. Ian knew that Mickey, on some sweltering, summer day, had gone out and shot his father in the head. Mickey Milkovich, the boy Ian was dangerously close to liking a little too much, had killed Terry. Ian wasn't scared of Mickey. He wasn't angry at him, or disgusted with his actions. How could he be? Mickey wasn't killing his dad, he was killing his abuser. His abuser, and Mandy’s abuser. And that was enough for Ian to take a step back and realize Mickey had done a good thing. 

Mickey, who was lying in Ian’s bed right now, the rest of the Gallagher house empty. Fiona was at work, Lip was with Karen, Debbie and Carl were off doing fuck all, and they’d taken Liam with them. This left Ian with an empty house and a handful of Mickey Milkovich. He wanted to call Mickey his boyfriend, but he was so fucking scared of it. He’d lied a bit when he’d said he wasn't scared of Mickey. He wasn't scared of him, but rather where he wanted this thing with them to go. Ian wanted more than just hushed hook-ups and empty small talk between rounds and cigarettes. 

“I can fuckin’ hear you thinking, man,” Mickey laughed softly, looking over at Ian, who was sat up and leaning against the wall. Ian sighed, looking back down at Mickey, loving the way his eyes seemed to glitter in the light coming in from the window.

“Sorry,” Ian said. “Just have a lot on my mind.”

After the beat of silence, it was clear Mickey wasn't going to ask Ian what he was thinking about. That was okay. Ian wasn't expecting him to, anyway.

What Mickey _did_ do, however, was sit up, and lean in to kiss Ian slow on the mouth. It took Ian’s breath away, and he hesitated from shock, before pressing back into it, letting his eyes fall closed as his lips part to deepen the kiss.

When Mickey pulled back, Ian blinked over at him, cocking a brow and smiling slightly. “What was that for?”

“Fuckin’ felt like it, that’s what for,” Mickey snorted, flopping back onto the bed carelessly. “You give a shit if I nap?”

“Nah,” Ian shrugged, reaching over and gently nudging Mickey’s shoulder. “Go ahead. I’ll do some homework or somethin’.”

“‘Kay,” Mickey said, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes. “Wake me up when the world’s ending.”

Ian just smiled, because Mickey Milkovich was in _his_ house, in _his_ bed, in _his_ presence, and there was not much else Ian wanted besides what he had here and now.

  
  
  


“Homecoming! It’s _homecoming,_ Ian! I’m so fucking excited!” Mandy squealed as she switched between holding the long black dress up to her body to the shorter pinkish red one. “Which one?”

“The black?” Ian answered unconvincingly, shrugging his shoulders up a bit. “I dunno, Mands. They’d both be cute on you.”

“The black,” Mickey said as he waltzed into Mandy’s bedroom, sitting down on the bed next to Ian. Their thighs brushed, and Ian felt like he was on fire.

“You think?” Mandy said, looking at the dress again. “Okay!”

As she hung the dresses back up, having made her choice for the next night, Ian glanced over at Mickey, to find he was already looking. A slow smile crept up onto Ian’s face, and he watched with pure delight as it mirrored onto Mickey’s, and soon the other boy was smiling so wide that Ian thought his cheeks might've hurt. 

It felt so… _right_ to Ian. To be here, helping his best friend pick out her homecoming dress while the guy he was _definitely_ falling for was sat next to him, a great big fucking grin on his face. 

Mickey was looking at Ian like he hung the damn stars in the sky. It made him feel extraordinary.

“C’mon!” Mandy shouted happily, breaking the moment, but it was okay. Ian didn't mind. He went from looking at one of his favorite people in the world to another, and Mandy’s smile was something nobody could beat. It made Ian smile even more, and he stood up, taking the hand she was holding out for him. She loved holding his hand. 

“Let’s go get lunch,” Mandy grinned, squeezing Ian’s hand. “Mickey, you wanna come?”

Mickey seemed shocked by Mandy’s question, but let himself smile at her in a way Ian had never seen before. Of course, he’d seen that beautiful grin that Mickey had, but the one he threw at Mandy was different. It was close-mouthed, but it was sweet. It was loving. It made Ian feel warm inside, even if that smile wasn't directed at him. 

“Yeah,” Mickey finally answered. “Sure.”

And so the three of them headed off to go get lunch somewhere, Ian holding Mandy’s hand so tight he thought he’d break her fingers, and standing just a little too close to Mickey, wishing he could hold his hand, too.

  
  
  


“What did it feel like?” Ian asked, so soft, the breeze from his open window blowing through his hair as his heart swelled at the pressure of Mickey’s head resting on his chest. “When you… y’know, to your dad.”

Mickey took a sharp breath. This was the first time they’d talked about this. Ian could tell he was on edge, and that was okay— who the fuck wouldn’t be, talking about their own homicidal acts? 

“Didn't feel like anything,” Mickey shrugged. “It just felt freeing. Dunno if that makes me sound fuckin’ nuts, but it’s true. That man has made my life a fucking hell since I was a kid. Mandy and I both. I’m fuckin’ glad he’s dead.”

Ian hadn't expected all that. He’d expected Mickey to shrug it off like it was no big deal, because that’s what Mickey always did. 

“Oh,” Ian breathed out, resisting the urge to run a hand through Mickey’s hair. “That’s good then, right?”

Mickey sat up, facing Ian. There was a smile to his words. “Why the fuck do you talk so much?” 

He leaned in, kissing Ian so softly, that Ian almost forgot how to kiss back. With Mickey, kissing was always rough, and fast, and deep. This was gentle. This was the way you kissed someone you weren't _just_ fucking. 

Ian let himself bury his fingers in Mickey’s hair then, basking in the way it felt oh-so-soft against his skin. His lips broke from Mickey’s, and slowly made their way down to his neck.

“No marks,” Mickey breathed out, but Ian just smirked, drifting lower on his neck, down to his chest.

“You sure?” he whispered, kissing over the very obvious hickey right below Mickey’s collarbone. “‘Cause you didn't seem to have a problem before.”

“Fuck you, y’know I just mean where people can see ‘em,” Mickey laughed, but it fizzed out when Ian got himself between his legs, Mickey on his back with each leg bent at the knee and each foot flat on the bed. 

Neither of them heard the door opening until Mandy’s voice was exclaiming, “Ian! We need to figure out where we’re taking pictures for homecoming— What?”

Ian pulled away from Mickey faster than the speed of fucking light, and Mickey’s entire body practically curled up at the mere sound of another human’s voice in the room. Ian was looking at Mandy, and Mickey was looking at her, too. 

She was looking at Ian.

“I…” She looked to Mickey, then, and her face was so hard to read. Even for Ian, who thought he knew her best.

_Even for Mickey, who really did._

“Mandy,” Ian started, trying to get up off the bed, but he was fucking tangled in Mickey’s stupid legs, and ended up falling face-first onto the floor, right in front of Mandy’s feet. She watched him as he fell, staring at the back of his head until he slowly pulled himself up off the floor, giving her an apologetic look.

“You’re—” She looked at Mickey, _again._ “You’re into dudes?”

Mickey was a deer in headlights, and he looked like he was one second away from hurling all over Ian’s bed. 

“Mickey,” Mandy breathed, the mood of the room shifting, and it was like a dam had broken when she just laughed, once, and stepped forward to pull Mickey up off the bed and into a hug. “I love you, you fucking moron.”

Mickey finally laughed too, a wet fucking laugh, and Ian watched as he held his sister like the world was going to shit. He thought if the house collapsed around them right now, or if the Sun fucking exploded and took out all of this fucked up, ugly world, Mickey would just hold Mandy with that death-grip like if he let go she would be sucked into oblivion. 

Mandy looked to Ian then, and her eyes were wet, too. She gave him a small little smile, and held out a hand, asking for him to join.

As Ian took the few steps to collide with the two of them, he felt something in him settle. He wasn't too sure what it was. Maybe it was the fact that Mandy knew about him and Mickey now, and wasn't upset. Maybe it was more than that. 

He settled against Mandy’s side, wrapping his arms around her and Mickey both, leaning his head against Mandy’s. He closed his eyes, and listened to their merged breathing. 

It felt like home.

  
  


The Milkovich babies didn’t suddenly heal after the night Mandy found out about Ian and Mickey. Ian hoped for the smallest moment they would, but as it turned out, fear burrowed deep in the two of them and their traumas were holding hands, keeping their nightmares linked and strong.

Mandy still flinched at any loud or sudden movement. Mickey still lashed out at the slightest inconvenience. The two of them both woke up sweaty and crying, their childhood on their minds. 

Homecoming was all Mandy had been looking forward to the whole summer. Ian watched as she twirled around in her dress, jumping up and down in excitement. 

“Ian!” she squealed, taking his hands. “We’re going to homecoming!”

“You’ve been to homecoming before, Mands,” Ian laughed. “Why are you _so_ excited for this one?”

“Because!” Mandy exclaimed, hugging Ian. “This is the first year I know _you._ ”

Ian felt his heart swell at that.

“Yo!” Mickey shouted, barreling into Ian’s room with a bag of chips from the kitchen downstairs. “Keep her safe tonight, young man, y’hear me?”

Ian just smiled and rolled his eyes, reaching over and nudging Mickey playfully. The two of them had slowly started to get more comfortable being around each other while Mandy was there too, not holding back like they used to. Ian had it _hard_ for Mickey, and every time he was around him, he felt like he was on cloud-fucking-nine. 

“Shut up, old man,” Ian snorted, taking Mandy’s hand. “I plan on keeping her the safest she can possibly be.”

“I know ya do,” Mickey said, the trace of a smile on his lips, and when he locked eyes with Ian, it felt like a million words silently communicated with some eye contact and a barely-there-smirk.

“I’m gonna go pee,” Mandy said, squeezing Ian’s hand and going off to the bathroom, the door to Ian’s room creaking shut behind her. Mickey looked to the door, and then back to Ian, cocking a brow.

“What?” Ian asked, smiling at Mickey’s expression.

Mickey walked towards him, reaching a hand up to lay on Ian’s jaw. He looked up at Ian like he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“You sad I’m not your homecoming date?” Mickey teased, but he wasn't poking fun. A part of Ian thought maybe he wanted to know for real. Maybe Mickey, deep down, wanted to be Ian’s date. 

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Ian smiled, playing along. His hands found their place on Mickey’s hips, their favorite spot. “‘Cause you _definitely_ know how to dance.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey laughed, but he didn't let himself go on for long, because he pulled Ian down into a kiss before Ian could even think of anything to say. 

It was just them. Mandy could’ve come back in the room, and neither of them would notice unless she made them. Ian felt so at home with Mickey, something he never would've expected that first night he saw that dirty, teenage boy in a shitty truck calling for his baby sister. 

When Ian and Mandy eventually had to leave, Mickey asked if he could stay at the Gallagher house. Ian didn't mind. The rest of his family would be in various places all night, so Mickey didn't have to worry about any awkwardness if he ran into one of Ian’s siblings.

They left, and Mickey stayed. He watched them go. He tried not to think about the fact that he so desperately wanted to be going with them.

Once they got to the school, they didn't waste any time before getting out onto the dance floor and letting themselves go. The lights were flashing, and they were so bright, and the music was so _loud._ Mandy felt like she was on drugs, somehow. And Ian just held her hand, twirling her all around the dance floor and grinning to the sky, because this was his fucking life and there was nothing else he could ask for.

He heard a crackle of thunder outside, and watched in amusement as dozens of now-wet teenagers came screaming and laughing from the outside, shaking off the rain from their clothes. 

The rain felt right. He wasn't too sure why.

  
  
  
  


And while the storm raged on, and Ian and Mandy danced their night away at homecoming, Mickey snooped around Ian’s room.

Come _on._ What was he supposed to do? Ian left him _alone_ in his bedroom. Of course he was going to snoop!

So he looked, and looked, and looked. And he found nothing of any interest besides some porn and dirty laundry. 

Until he lifted the mattress.

There was a single sheet of paper there, with what looked like dried droplet stains on it. It was folded sloppily, and Mickey grabbed it off of the box spring, dropping the mattress back down. He sat on it, unfolding the paper and starting to read:

_Are you there, God? It’s about Mickey Milkovich._

_I don’t know if you even exist, to be honest. Which may be bad to say when I’m addressing you, but I feel like I’ve got nowhere else to turn._

_I don’t know what your plan is for Mickey. I can’t tell whether you want him to die by his own hands or his father’s at this point. Because all I see for him is fucking suicide or murder, and it breaks my heart._

_God, I think I’m falling in love with him. It’s so dumb but it’s true. How the fuck did I fall for his stupid ass? I don’t know, but it’s something about him. He’s one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. He has so much anger inside of him, yet he’s still able to be gentle and sweet and calm. When he kissed me that first night, and so many times after that, I never felt afraid. I felt safe in his arms._

_So, God, sorry that this is short. But I just need you to save him. Save him from himself, and save him from his dad. Him and Mandy both. I care about them way too fucking much to watch them be destroyed by that piece of garbage._

_Sincerely,_

_Ian_

Mickey just stared at the paper for a long time. He stared until he watched a single tear of his own drop onto the page, right next to one of the dried-up stains. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled, wiping his face. 

He was out in the cold rain before he could stop himself, clutching the letter in his hand. 

He started up his truck, blinking away the sudden oncoming of tears. He didn't want to cry about this. 

Mickey sped all the way to the school, pulling his phone out and dialing Ian’s number as he got out, leaning against his hood and hoping that Ian would check his damn phone.

“Mick? You okay?”

Mickey let out a sigh of relief when he heard Ian’s voice flood the phone, the eruption of music behind Ian’s shouting making his head hurt. “Come outside, Gallagher. Just for a minute.”

He hung up before Ian could say another word.

He stood and waited, until the school doors opened and there was Ian, emerging from inside and doing a small jog out to where Mickey stood. Mickey was sopping wet at this point, and there was thunder surrounding them, clouding his brain.

“Mick?” Ian asked again, shaking his now-wet hair out of his face. 

Mickey handed him the letter. “Don’t get pissed at me for snooping. You talk to God ‘bout me?”

Ian’s expression fell as he looked at the paper settled in his hand, and then trailed his eyes back to Mickey. “Mickey, I’m sorry—”

“Do you?” Mickey asked, stepping forward, blinking the water out of his eyes. “Love me?”

“I don’t know,” Ian answered honestly, shrugging softly. “I don’t think I know what love feels like. But I really like you, Mick.”

Mickey sniffled, and god dammit he was probably gonna get sick from being in the cold rain, but he didn't care. He pulled Ian down to kiss him, raising onto his toes a bit, and Ian caught his body as they swayed, hands on his hips where they belonged. 

It felt like years they kissed in the rain. It was nothing like the movies. There was water and wet hair in Mickey’s face, and Ian’s mouth was slippery and hard to kiss. But he didn't give a fuck. Neither of them did. They just kissed like they’d die without each other’s breaths, and it was enough. 

They broke apart after a while, but Ian kept his forehead pressed against Mickey’s. “I’m so fuckin’ lucky your sister wanted to be my friend.”

Mickey laughed, wiping his face for the millionth time, even though the rain just kept coming and his face was soaked. “Yeah, you are. So am I."

Ian looked down, watching as Mickey curled his fingers around Ian’s forearms. He smiled softly to himself, catching sight of his knuckles. 

_FUCK U-UP._ The words that hooked him right from the start. Blue eyes, dirty black hair, and knuckles that spelled out such angry, threatening words, housed the most beautiful boy that Ian had ever known.

  
  
  
  
  


_“I’ve been rereading your story. I think it’s about me in a way that might not be flattering, but that’s okay. We dream and dream of being seen as we really are and then finally someone looks at us and sees us truly and we fail to measure up. Anyway: story received, story included. You looked at me long enough to see something mysterioso under all the gruff and bluster. Thanks. Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.”_

Richard Siken, _The Long and Short Of It_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my socials
> 
> twitter— buckbuchanans  
> instagram— clairvcyancy


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